Wriothesley tells Neuvillette that he's his family and home.

--

Wriothesley is strange today.

Neuvillette watches him, head tilted slightly as they sit side-by-side. It's a dreary, overcast day, but that isn't so strange. Overcast can mean a quiet day, or a sleepy day. Fontaine wears Neuvillette's moods like a blanket and though he is not sad, his wariness shows in the way that it threatens to drizzle.

Wriothesley notices. Sticks his hand out, palm up and looses a tense, short chuckle. "There's no need for that, sweetheart. I'm fine."

"You are not."

"I am," insists Wriothesley, but there's a sour tinge to his scent that just seems... off. Strange. Wriothesley seems to bear a weight, one that Neuvillette cannot recognize, which bothers him.

A drizzle starts.

Wriothesley looks at him, sighing softly—but it's warm. Affectionate. There is, at least that. "Neuvillette," he says, "there isn't a need to be worried."

Of course there is. Wriothesley has just called him by name, and not that he never does, but it wasn't with that sweet tone, or that soft smile that pulls at his mouth. "I would think that you can talk to me," says Neuvillette, finally. "You are my mate, Wriothesley. Am I not someone that you can confide in?"

"That isn't—" Wriothesley shuffles slightly, tension rolling through his form. They sit on a picnic blanket, trying to enjoy a rare afternoon together, but Neuvillette's emotions getting the better of him threaten that peace.

Still, Wriothesley seems mostly unbothered for as strange as he is acting. He is... contemplative. Ruminating on something. But what? Neuvillette has never seen him so quiet, so focused on anything other than his protection. This is more... distant, as if Wriothesley is a league away despite being right beside him.

"I'm just thinking," says Wriothesley then. "Honest. It's just one of those days when you ruminate and wonder how you got here, or think about where you came from."

Neuvillette's mouth parts, unsure exactly how to respond to that. For all that he knows of Wriothesley, there are many things that have remained packaged up tightly. He doesn't push. He'll never push, even if curiosity tugs at his being. Ultimately, these things do not matter and Wriothesley can tell him if and when he's ready. His mate, now, is all that matters, but—

"Yeah, that look." Wriothesley rubs at his face. "That's why I didn't say anything. You just get this look that's torn."

"Wriothesley, I want to help—"

"These aren't bad thoughts. I'm just..." Wriothesley sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. "Sometimes when things are a little too happy, and you wonder how you got there."

Oh. Neuvillette considers this for a moment before asking, "And is that how you are? Too happy?"

Wriothesley laughs. "Don't worry, you old fish. That's a good thing. I never thought I'd..." Wriothesley's expression falls, and he sighs again, this time heavier. Tired. "It isn't that I think I can't talk to you. There are just bits and piece of me that you're probably better off not knowing."

"Wrong." Neuvillette reaches out for Wriothesley's hand, craving his touch, needing to reassure him in some way. "Beloved, I want to know all of you, always."

It matters not what is in his past, Wriothesley is his knight now. His protector, his beloved mate. Neuvillette doesn't think there's a thing that could sour his love.

Wriothesley hesitates, though. His tongue darts out, licking across his lips, and he lets Neuvillette thumb across the back of his hand, chasing the scars there. Scars. Many of them are from recent years, but others... Neuvillette's gaze drifts from the cut underneath Wriothesley's eye, to the long-healed gashes that line his throat.

That throat bobs as Wriothesley swallows. "I know that," he says, quietly. "Archons—Ah. Sovereigns," he amends at the sight of Neuvillette's frown. "Truly I know that."

"Then tell me." It is a quiet request. Wriothesley doesn't have to, but Neuvillette is there to listen, to offer council, or to just speak to—whatever his mate wishes. Wriothesley scent turns soft and heady. Appreciative. Perhaps Neuvillette was overthinking things.

"To be honest, there isn't a lot there. I was tossed away as a baby. Then I was given to a foster family, and those people were..." Wriothesley's jaw locks.

Neuvillette has long suspected that his upbringing was less than stellar. He is aware of how he came into the Court's service—his initial position was one of indentured servitude by way of the House of the Hearth. The sentence that Wriothesley carried has long since been commuted, but back then, Neuvillette remembers a bedraggled young man that barely fit into his boots.

They did not interact much; Wriothesley spent most of his time on the front lines, serving missions abroad, before ranking well and receiving a position in the palace guard. By that time he was a man grown—but one that carried with him a sort of solemn grief that could be spotted a mile away.

It is what attracted Neuvillette. Wriothesley was not like other mortals; he kept to himself and his smiles never quite reached his eyes. It captivated him, made Neuvillette want to understand.

And then they fell in love. Wriothesley's smiles are now warm like that sun, something reserved for Neuvillette alone.

"Do you even know what my sentence was?"

"I do not. You accepted an assignment with the House of the Hearth before your case was ever brought before me. Those records are sealed and I've never pried."

Wriothesley's mouth twitches into a sardonic grin. "And if I told you that your mate was a murderer?"

"I would say that my mate would have a good reason."

Wriothesley barks with laughter. "A good reason," he repeats. "Yeah. That foster family sold off the children they took in like pieces of pie. And those that weren't picked..." Wriothesley chews on his tongue. "Let's just say there was a dedicated cemetery on the property."

What?

"Hang on," says Wriothesley before Neuvillette can make a fool of himself by saying something untoward. "You don't have to worry about it. I took care of them. Ma and Pa. I ran away, lived on the streets, and then I went back to..." Wriothesley gestures vaguely.

A child shouldn't have to do such a terrible thing.

"I confessed, of course. I was still covered in their blood when they found me." Wriothesley grimaces, rubbing at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, pulling over the mark of their oath there. He does that when he's nervous, when he needs a distraction.

Neuvillette frowns. "You should have gone to trial."

"And what? Been thrown into prison? Would you have cut me a deal, Neuvillette?"

He would not have. Wriothesley is right; even if the Neuvillette of now has softened to the point that he'd consider the actions of a child and self-defense, back then he would not have understood. Humanity still eludes him, but then his views would have been very black and white.

"Hey," says Wriothesley, reading his face far too well. "I'm not angry about that, and I made the right choice."

"You were a child. You... the streets, Wriothesley?"

"Better than that hellhole, I assure you."

"It was self-defense—"

"It was premeditated," cuts in Wriothesley. "And if there's one thing that place taught me, it's that a person should pay their dues. Which I have, and that brings me to my thoughts today. Everything that I've overcome, this life that I've cultivated, I... never would have thought I could be happy."

"And you think that you do not deserve it?"

Wriothesley's expression is a little bittersweet, but then he says, "No, I absolutely deserve it for putting up with you."

What a terrible tease, but Neuvillette finds himself smiling regardless.

"But," he continues, leaning over until their shoulders are touching, "it's a good thing. I love this, all of this. And I love you, unconditionally. Unfathomably. You're my home, my family. I've never had either of those things."

Neuvillette sweeps close, cupping his face, and kisses him. "Beloved," he murmurs against his mouth, "you do me a kindness that I am not sure I deserve."

Wriothesley chuckles against his mouth, nipping at Neuvillette's mouth, turning that sweet kiss into something headier. But that's all they do—they kiss, holding each other, as that rain slowly turns from a drizzle back into a mist.

"Were you really that worried?" asks Wriothesley, tugging at the end of Neuvillette's braid.

"You are rarely so... contemplative, so yes. Around me, you are never so guarded."

"Ah. Yeah, I just... Sorry. As I get older I think about these things more, especially on days like this that we have together. But it's nice, knowing that this is where I belong. That you want me here. No one can take that away from me."

"No, they cannot. I would never let a soul steal you away." Neuvillette thumbs over Wriothesley's cheek. Brushes back his hair and sighs at the silver strands that catch against his claws. How mortal. "Not even time, Wriothesley. If you were to want it, we could have all the time in the world. This is something that I can give you."

That... is something that Neuvillette has never brought up. Hinted at, yes. Tested the waters with the idea of it, many times. But never has he outright stated that he can bend the laws of the world.

Wriothesley thinks about this for a long moment. "I... shouldn't be surprised by that."

"It is merely a thought. Think on it. Talk to me when you wish."

"Thank the gods. I'd rather go back to kissing right now. Leave the philosophical debates for another time."

"It isn't a debate, but a fact—"

Wriothesley cuts him off with another kiss. "Home," he says, tugging at Neuvillette's collar, pulling him closer. "You're my home. You aren't going anywhere. Kiss now, weird immortal stuff later."

Neuvillette snorts, but does as his mate bids.

Neither of them notices that the rain stops, or that the clouds part, the sun peeking out from behind them. When Neuvillette is happy, Fontaine is happy, and there is nothing that warms his heart more than knowing that his mate belongs.

"Beloved," he says, and Wriothesley smiles against his mouth, and anything else are just thoughts lost to time.